


Most of All

by Joana789



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Established Relationship, Even's POV, Fluff, Insight, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: If he were to make a movie about himself, he knows what it would be like.(Because here’s another list of facts, and Even likes this one better: the grass is green, the universe is constantly expanding, and Even is in love with Isak.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This had been sitting in my drafts for months and then the trailer came out and I finished it within a day because this is how I cope with feelings.
> 
> I don't know what to think about this fic.

 

Here’s a list of facts: the sky is blue, the Earth is spinning, and Even Bech Næsheim has a mental illness.

It doesn’t define him, no — although it used to, for a little, scary while — but it reflects everywhere, still. In the way he walks, in the way he speaks and dresses, in his steps and his movements, all those things. And Even didn’t choose it for himself, but got it anyway and he could pretend that it’s not there, except that it is. It’s in his medical record, and in his parent’s minds — constant attention, although disguised — and in his own mind as well, something that is always on.

It’s in his dreams, too. Sometimes, if he falls asleep at all, there are only pieces — bits, too short and frantic, shredded into fragments like confetti, and Even scrapes to find meaning because it’s all brilliant, exploratory, but then he wakes up and it dissolves into thin air. Then there are dreams that are dull, as if slowed down on purpose, tiring images and exhausting sights and they last too long and leave his mind blank and his chest heavy.

But those are the rules, and that’s what he knows. It’s like this — the sun rises in the east, every day, and you don’t have to like it, but that’s how it works.

  
———

  
Then, from time to time, his dreams are something else.

They’re romances, and dramas, and comedies. They’re brilliant camera angles and interesting shots and light reflecting in people’s eyes, the colors matching, bright but not neon, not anymore, not for now. They are gorgeous views with a great soundtrack playing in the background, aerial shots, Hollywood style. Those are all scenes from movies waiting to be made, from scripts waiting to be written.

Even remembers every single one, every detail, every part.

And more often than not, there’s a boy in them, too, blonde and tall, and when he smiles, his dimples show.

Because here’s another list of facts, and Even likes this one better: the grass is green, the universe is constantly expanding, and Even is in love with Isak.

  
———

  
When Even first wakes up to Isak, it’s on a too-early morning that feels like a mirage but isn’t, and this is the part of it all he doesn’t really understand. Isak is a sight, really, with his hair mussed and peaceful expression and Even lets himself look — really look, take it in, commit it to memory.

It’s as if the worlds blended together when he wasn’t careful, while he was asleep — the dreams and the reality.

Last night was hectic, and a little crazy, too — the great escape, first, and getting back to Isak’s apartment dripping wet and soaked to the bone, then grinning and giggling despite the cold as Isak struggled to open the door with trembling hands and then eyes gleaming, pretending to sneak glances, and, in the end, kissing, kissing, kissing.

There was a shift in the world, then.

So yeah, the first time’s like this — Even wakes up and for a split second feels a little confused because that’s not his bed and that’s not his room, but then his eyes find Isak sleeping just mere centimetres away, his face pressed into the pillow, the light of the morning painting luminous patterns on his cheek and over his messy hair, and Even looks and looks until the image is pressed into his memory, until it’s securely stored away. Just in case; just for him.

When Even closes his eyes again, he realizes that it’s the most peaceful he’s felt in a long while, probably.

(Title of movie no.1: ”A boy looks at the world.”)

  
———

  
A list of facts, again, because they help to put things into right places: stars light up the sky at night, the air is 21% oxygen and if Even were to make a movie about himself, for once, he knows what it would be like.

This is how his mind works — he sees frames everywhere he goes, and shots, and stills, and there are moments in his life when he thinks, out of the blue and always in a flash, _this would make a good movie scene._

For Even, a good movie scene was when he was fifteen and he and Sonja held hands for the very first time, or when he was sixteen and smoked his first joint, or when he was eighteen and got drunk at a party and went outside and sat on the pavement for half an hour, staring at the stars above. It was when he was nineteen and saw Isak, smiling, that first day of school, and later, when they kissed in that pool, and later, when Isak wrapped his arms around him so tightly Even could barely breathe, and later and later and later.

Some of those scenes are dull, dark-coloured by everything that is going on in Even’s head at the moment, or seem too frantic and neon, a little like his dreams, and some of them Even lets slip past him entirely, because he doesn’t have enough strength to keep them close, but if he were to make a movie about himself, it would begin and end like this — a stir of colour, a blast of music, and _life_.

  
———

  
(There was a time when he believed his movie would end with death, or in flames, or with something equally dramatic, because if he was to direct it on his own, just Even and Even alone, that’s the ending he would’ve given himself. _Look_ , he would say, speaking through every frame and every movement of the camera, _this is what people like you get._

But then Isak came along, and took the image of Romeo and Juliet’s tragedy away; replaced it with a thrill in Even’s bones, and with patience, and a conscious choice to get to know Even, exactly who he is, nothing less.

Even thinks, now, that he might have become a fan of open-ended stories somewhere along the way.)

  
———

  
It’s a Friday night, way past midnight, and the party in Isak’s apartment is slowly starting to wind down. The music’s still blasting, loud and dizzying, and some people are still making out in the corners and drinking on the couch or in the kitchen, but Even can feel the air around him getting heavy with tiredness and satisfaction, just how it always does when a party’s coming to an end.

Isak swallows the last of his drink and sets the plastic cup on the floor. He’s warm where his side is pressed up to Even’s on the couch, and when he rests his head on Even’s shoulder, his hair tickles Even’s skin.

Even presses a kiss to Isak’s temple.

”Tired?” he asks, because it really is late, and Isak has had a tough week, he knows, and only agreed to this party because Vilde asked.

Isak says, ”No,” and then, two seconds later, ”Yeah.”

Even wraps his arm around Isak’s waist and smiles a little at the way the boy relaxes against him.

”Want me to kick them out?” he offers, and it makes Isak huff out a breathy almost—laugh.

Even bottles up the sound and then saves it in the back of his mind.

Because the thing is, and he’s known it for a while now — Isak is so easy to love. It didn’t take Even long to realize, no, but it does still catch him off guard, sometimes, at moments like this when they sit side by side and share warmth and each other’s presence. It’s so easy, to melt against him, and to talk about anything and everything, or to not talk at all, to mold to his shape, two seamless halves of one thing.

He never really thought he would get that one day.

A slow song comes next instead of the blasting beat, and Even shifts against Isak, who is now leaning on him heavily as if he were to fall asleep despite the noise around.

”Hey,” Even mutters because he has an idea, and he thinks it’s a nice one. ”Baby, dance with me.”

”What?” Isak lifts his head up to look at Even properly, and his eyes are gleaming in the lights of the party as he does.

”Dance with me,” Even repeats, grinning. They are probably the only still moderately sober people in here, and most of the crowd doesn’t even care about the music in the first place, so it’s not like they’re going to be a sight. _No rumors_ , Even wants to tell Isak. _No pointed looks. That’s not what it’s about._

”That’s the last song,” Even promises him instead, ”and then I’ll kick them all out if you want.”

”You won’t kick them out,” Isak says, but he’s smiling just a little.

”I would,” Even replies, shrugging, and stands up, takes Isak’s hand in his and squeezes. ”If you asked.”

Isak shoots him a glance then, a little too heavy and warm for their ordinary bickering, and Even wonders if that’s just because of the alcohol or something else entirely. It makes him want to shiver.

”I know,” Isak mutters, and rolls his eyes, but then gets up from the couch nevertheless.

And then they’re swaying in the middle of the room, surrounded by other people, arms wrapped around backs and draped across waists. Isak is pressed tight against Even’s chest, barely any space left between them, one of his hands tangled in the mess of Even’s hair and when he mutters, ”It’s not even a real dance,” Even can’t hold back a sneer.

”Yeah, you’d know since you’re so good at that,” Even laughs quietly, just for Isak to hear.

”I’m good at dancing,” Isak mutters and then hides his face in the crook of Even’s neck, pulls him closer, warm against his skin. ”I’m _so_ good at dancing, Even.”

Even presses one, two, three quick kisses to the side of his head and breathes in.

(And here’s a thought — title of movie no.2: ”A boy in love with a boy.”)

  
———

  
There are the good days, and then there are the bad days.

The thing about the bad days is that Even doubts he’ll ever learn how to deal with them. He can get better at it, and people around him can get better, too, but in the end, he always loses. Against the weight in his chest, the dullness that clings onto him and refuses to let go no matter where he is and what he does. The exhaustion, because keeping his eyes open is too much of an effort, sometimes. And breathing can get difficult, too.

Not many people seem to get that.

They ask him questions he doesn’t have answers for, questions like _”How are you feeling?”_ and _”Where have you been?”_ and _”What are you thinking?”_ and want to know when and what and _why_. Even doesn’t know why, and if he had more energy, he’d tell them, once and for all, but he doesn’t have any left in his body, so he doesn’t say. Instead, he lets their voices drill into his head and echo when his mind feels too small, when it feels too big.

There are days — and nights, nights, _nights_ — when Even’s restless, when his eyes just won’t close, when his heart is beating just a bit too fast and ideas in his mind are bright and astonishing like fireworks, and he’s slipping out of his own reach with how fast he’s going.

There are days when Even is so exhausted his whole body feels heavy and he doesn’t leave his room at all, doesn’t pick up his phone, doesn’t talk to his parents, wishes he was somewhere else, someone else, wishes he was gone from the world.

That’s his life.

He reminds Isak about it from time to time, because it’s important that he remembers — that it’s a deal he can back out from, a word he can still take back, and Isak gets angry, sometimes, or a little serious, says, ”It’s not a deal, Even, it’s not business, it’s something completely different,” but the truth is that on his bad days, Even doesn’t understand why Isak still puts up with it all. _That’s how it is_ , he says, although using different words. _Ups and downs, one end or the other, blasts of colors and dull silences, the world askew, never quite right. You chose my fucked up brain._

But Isak is stubborn, and one of a kind, and he says, _no_ , although using different words, too.

And every time he reminds Even, _I chose you._

  
———

  
So on the bad days, the world is out of perspective, out of order, out of place.

On the good days, Even sorts his reality into lists of facts to hold on to, or imagines his life as a movie, sees frames and shots and camera movements, all that, because it helps him remember that things can be good just as they are, ultimately.

The sun rises in the east, every day, and he’s fine with that.

  
———

  
”You know,” Even says, out of the blue, and Isak turns his head to look at him, shifts where they’re sitting next to each other, ”I dream about you sometimes.”

Isak blinks at him, then smiles just a little. ”Do you?”

He sounds a bit confused, and surprised, too, but not in a bad way. It’s the nice kind of surprised, Even recognizes, the pleased one, the ” _I passed the test I forgot to study for_ ” one, the ” _My boyfriend is being romantic again_ ” one.

It’s one of Even’s favorites.

”Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little as if he was telling a secret. ”I make movies, and you’re in them. They’re about you, sometimes. Sometimes, they’re about me. And some of them are about the both of us, together. Romances and dramas, Hollywood style. The camera angles are pure art.”

Isak smirks at the last part.

”I can imagine,” he mutters, but it’s fond, so it’s okay.

Even doesn’t talk about his dreams, generally. Because who really does? They’re his. It’s difficult to put them into words and to translate them correctly because images don’t translate into sentences well enough. _What he feels_ doesn’t translate well enough, maybe, because there’s a whole range of emotions in his chest at all times, so how is he supposed to summarize that?

But Isak seems content with just an outline of it all. An idea.

Even, saying, _I think about you, always._

”How do they all end, though?” Isak asks after a moment and his eyes gleam, suddenly.

And Even smiles and leans in close and mutters, ”Usually like this,” and kisses him.

  
———

  
(He thinks — title of movie no.3: ” _Us_.”)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://slythaerinss.tumblr.com)
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> (+comments greatly appreciated)


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